


i don't want anybody else

by arsenouselation



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Other, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenouselation/pseuds/arsenouselation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(but you.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I ship Hange with everyone, sorry not sorry. Inspired by Coldplay's 'Magic'. I recommend listening to that song while reading this. Subject to revisions. Cover is from Coldplay's album, A Sky Full of Stars.

_**i don't want anybody else  
**_ (but you)

–

_« by arsenous elation »_

–

 _**Waves  
** _ _by Caroline Gormley_

For this moment, this one rare glance, we are together.  
I press you to me. I indent my name.

...

I remember the narrow streets, with our hands on the cold known territory, this forest of the unknown world alight.  
The machine then works; I note the rhythm, the I, and again I, and again I.

* * *

PART I

* * *

Motes of dust swirl in the sunlight; the morning is slow, endless.

Erwin has his back pressed against the wooden floor, warm from the sunlight that floods through the window. His chest feels weighted, like the world is pushing down against him and he does not push back (not quite yet). Quietly, he watches Hange read beside him, face radiant in the light, eyes lost in the map of words.

This is Erwin's first true lesson in beauty. Hange has a face that would look handsome on a boy—all brightness and energy—but would also be fetching on a girl—sun-kissed and summery. At thirteen, Erwin learns that some things cannot be classified, how Hange isn't just a boy or girl. Some things are beautiful without any explanation, without any reason.

Like how Hange is Hange and that is beautiful. That is enough.

Suddenly, Hange stands, walks over to the window. Hange never cleans this window, leaves it dusty so they can write words on it. Words to be discovered, words waiting for meaning.

In between 'sea' and 'christianity' Hange traces the word 'magic'.

* * *

"I've learned something today. Watch this," Hange breathes, scrunches a blue cloth in their hands.

But Erwin focuses on Hange's eyes. The brightness in them almost blinds him, causes his heart to do a backwards variation of some dance Hange taught him last week. He opens his mouth, wanting to say something, wanting to ask,  _how do you do that?_

In a flurry of breathless blue, Hange procures a bouquet of flowers from the cloth. Magic, Hange says, mouth almost splitting their face in a smile, isn't it amazing?

_You are._

"Yes," Erwin finds himself nodding, accepts the proffered bouquet, ears burning.

* * *

In the heavy blanket of midnight, they stay awake. Jeweled light travels across the walls of the room, the lamp with its colored stones a solitary witness by the windowsill.

 _Once there was bird,_  Erwin begins his story, one that has been worn from retelling. Hange reaches up to take his hand, slow and unquestioned.

_Once there was a bird who saw the world in its entirety._

* * *

Some things are beautiful and some things are terrifying. Without any explanation.

It happens in a careless moment:

A careless word spills from the mouth of neighbor's son.  _Traitor._ It is a word they both learned through experience, through the loss of a father and a grandfather. It is a word that transforms Hange entirely.

The moment Erwin registers what is happening, Hange has already leapt towards the boy, fists pummeling. Heart leaping to his throat, he surges and clasps Hange around their middle, tries to pull them away. But anger is a fickle thing, and Hange has always been strong, stronger than Erwin, but right at this moment Hange's rage is tremendous, is unstoppable.

Erwin does his best to drag Hange, even as blood pours from his nose.

"Hange! Hange!" he shouts. He tugs, tugs, tugs until the other boy escapes from Hange's punches, until his arms hurt from holding. Until Hange stops fighting and has turned to crying instead.

Then he holds on tighter.

* * *

"Hey, let's join the Survey Corps."

When he stands beside Hange, a wing has been drawn on the grime of the window.

Erwin steps forward, wills the sudden fear and trembling in his limbs. He remembers his father, the light glinting off his spectacles, the warm smile.  _To see the outside world._

Reaching over Hange, he draws the other wing, completes the emblem.

"Yeah."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete.

 

* * *

Part 2

* * *

 

The day Erwin Smith decides to push back against the weight of their small world (cage) is the day Hange starts to lose him. It happens gradually; the silence extending itself, the horizon broadening itself right before their eyes, the freedom more pronounced. But there is a distance between them now, a gap where it truly matters.

Hange does not realize it until it’s too late, until there’s an ache within them, right beside the memory of days long gone. But, perhaps, in some way, Erwin knew. Because in the beginning of it all he pulls Hange aside and says:

“There will come a time. That you will tire of me. When I am Commander I will send many men to their deaths. I will sacrifice a lot of things and you will come to detest me. When that time comes, even I am not sure...”

“I will stay.” Hange affirms, voice steady enough to convince both of them, repeats it for good measure, “I will stay.”

_You stayed for me even when it hurt you. Now let me do the same._

* * *

 

In the privacy of Erwin’s office, Hange shouts their throat hoarse.

“I calculated the odds! I could’ve saved him!”

“At the cost of what? The supplies? The objective?”

_“At the cost of nothing!”_

“Use your head,” Erwin finally snaps, when what he really means is:  
_Your heart is too angry._

Hange reels back like Erwin has slapped them. In his eyes, there is detachment.

* * *

 

Afterwards:

In the wake of quiet apologies and the awkward weight of post-argument, they sit side by side.

“Tell me again.” 

Erwin sighs, “Okay. But this is the last time.” 

He retells the story and Hange listens, but they do not hold hands. They have forgotten how to.

* * *

 

Hange looks around the now sparse room. Everything has been catalogued and packed away. The notes, the research, the restless pile of theories. All that remains are old clothes, the jeweled lamp, the story books, small things that fall outside Hange’s work. It is an amazing thing to see, that without Hange’s life work, there is not much else.

Moblit Berner, Hange’s appointed assistant—and isn’t that a novelty? Being a squad leader certainly has its perks—has brought an extra box for Hange’s personal effects. What little things Hange has, one box is enough. But what of the years, the time spent in this small room? How do you fit your yesterdays in the confines of a box?

“Is that all, Squad Leader?” Moblit asks, after all Hange’s research has been shipped out. Hange looks around the room, at the dirty window where they first wrote words.

“Yes,” Hange says, and steps out.

Moblit moves to follow when something catches his eye. A solitary box sitting in the corner. He closes the door behind him.

* * *

 

“Do you remember,” Hange says, tries not choke on the sudden lump in their throat, “the story you told me?”

Erwin turns to Hange, eyes unwavering now and evermore, mouth set in a grim line. Just by looking at him, Hange feels like they are both on the edge, on the precipice of something irreversible. Something has changed and now it will change something in return. And if there is something they are absolutely sure of, it is that change is constant, is unquantifiable. Who knows how much it will change? How little it will not?

It is at this moment that Hange is compelled to rush forward and take his hand, ask if he's still the same—because isn't he? Isn't he that same boy with the sky-eyes who read with Hange under the apple tree? Isn’t he the same boy who held Hange’s hand watching the colored lights dance around Hange’s old room?

Hange holds in a breath, bones steeled, heart (b)racing.

“Yes,” Erwin smiles.

But his handsome face is a mask.

_Oh._

There are some things you lose for now, and there are some things you lose for good. There are tears, but Hange keeps them for another time. This is the severance and Hange must be aware, must observe carefully, must remember every detail. _This, this is how you lost him._

“Tell me again.”

They can have this, at least. There is still the story, says the voice in Hange’s head, the story, you can keep.  
_(but the heart rebels, it questions: but where, where is the boy?)_

* * *

 

“I don’t want anybody else but you.”

And Hange _wants._ Wants to hear those words out of context, almost steps forward to pull Erwin Smith back. _Come back, Stay. I’ll protect you here,_ but Hange finds the strength (cowardice) not to, stays rooted on the spot. 

Because they know that wanting and needing are two different things. Because Hange cannot want, cannot keep, what humanity needs. Because of the way Erwin said:

_but you_.

He said it not in a way someone would say, “I need you, nobody else would do” but rather, “I need you to stay because I’m going away”.

That makes all the difference. Hange nods, but the room is already empty. 

* * *

The sunset’s light cuts Erwin’s form into both shadow and light. Hange enters the office quietly, says nothing. They have nothing to say now.

His hand falls away to his side and Hange sees that Erwin has written a name on the dust of the window, can almost hear him say it. Waiting to be discovered, waiting for meaning. 

_ Hange. _


End file.
